


on a summer's day

by blingblingtreasure



Series: high school!treasure AUs [1]
Category: TREASURE (Korea Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Childhood Friends, Childhood Friends, F/M, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, Mutual Pining, Other, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Slow Burn, it'll get better as it goes i promise, the chapters are so long will anyone even read this
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-05
Updated: 2021-01-05
Packaged: 2021-03-16 09:21:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,877
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28579647
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blingblingtreasure/pseuds/blingblingtreasure
Summary: you, soon to turn seven, move next door to a kid your age over summer break, and you immediately run into him. literally.
Relationships: Other Relationship Tags to Be Added
Series: high school!treasure AUs [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2094051
Kudos: 4





	1. ch. 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hello, beloved reader!
> 
> if this is your first time with me (which it probably is, being that this is my first fic LOL) please take a moment to skim through the pre-reading guide i've linked below and put on some music! maybe play the songs i've recommended? the youtube and spotify playlists are linked below. they will both be updated as chapters are posted (every saturday)! i hope you enjoy this fic. <3
> 
> all my heart,  
> blingblingtreasure

[pre-reading guide <3](https://archiveofourown.org/works/28579026)

[spotify !!](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/1JWnOGU4ULqp9zViwlVzf1)   
[youtube !!](https://youtu.be/Z3zaiYtphGc?list=PL-5Uj7_d6HEWGkZBtS1V2UaxzVDMcUrVd)

**🎶** _crazy for your love - jawny_

your round cheeks were flushed red like ripening peaches in the summer heat. the air was positively humming, you swore it was, and a dragonfly buzzed past your ear. you turned to admire its opalescent sheen, purplish-green in the afternoon light. the sky’s cloud-streaked bright blue seared the corners of your eyes. you blinked, and it left an afterimage. it felt too hot outside to even breathe.

you didn’t yet know it, but this day was to be your beginning.

behind you, the hired moving van rumbled away. “that’s the last of those boxes,” your mom panted, hands braced on her knees in a futile attempt to catch her breath. you turned to stare up at your new house, which you’d only seen a handful of times before today. it towered over your short six-year-old frame: two stories, with a balcony in the back you couldn’t see but knew was there. the sun beat down mercilessly on your forehead as you looked at the house, and you became acutely aware of a bead of sweat trickling down the side of your neck. it didn’t bring the word _home_ to mind.

“mommy, can i go to the park i saw in the car on the way here?”

“what?” she asked, distracted with retying her ponytail. “as long as you’re back by five. you have your watch, right?”

“yes,” you answered obediently. she nodded at you, then paused to frown. “you’re so red! it was silly of us to finish up our move here right in the middle of a heat wave. at least we already had all the heavy furniture moved in.” she fanned herself with one hand, taking yours with the other and leading you up the stone-paved walkway and a few steps to the front door. “go ask your dad where he left your hat and waterbottle, okay?”

“okay,” you beamed up at her. she smiled back, and when she turned to struggle with a stack of moving boxes, the toothy grin on your face twisted into an evil smirk. you had spied a pond in that park, full of ducks, and you had always wanted a pet of some kind, but your requests had been denied time and time again. if you brought one home yourself, of course your mom would have to say yes! barring that, you could always make it poop on her pillow if she refused. this little-kid logic satisfied you, and you headed deeper into the house, calling for your dad in your child’s high-pitched voice.

“yes?” his voice floated to you from somewhere unseen. you poked your head round the corner of the wall, spotting your father kneeling in the kitchen with his head poked into the oven. “did you need me?” he sat up, turning awkwardly in the inadequate space between the kitchen island and the oven to face you.

“daddy, are we cooking you?” you questioned innocently.

he laughed. “no, i’m seeing if we need to do some deep cleaning before we unpack our things. we have some time today if we want to, it’s still early.” he hauled himself to his feet, tired out from the heavy boxes he and your mother had dragged into the house earlier. “what do you need?”

“i want my water and hat,” you answered. “to go to the park.”

“don’t think you can escape cleaning with us afterwards, young lady!” he mock-scolded you, gently chubbing your cheek and making you laugh. “they’re in your backpack, in the car. now remember—”

“don’t talk to people for no reason, look both ways at the street, and scream if anyone touches me when i don’t want it,” you interrupted, reciting from memory with a deadpan voice and expression. “can i go now?”

he sighed. “yes, yes, and did you put on—”

“you made me put on that stinky stuff when we got here,” you complained, flapping your arms in disgust. “i smell icky!”

“your skin will thank me for that sunscreen in ten years, you know,” your father tossed back. “okay, off you go then.” he watched you turn and dash for the door, nearly banging into the opposite wall as you rounded the corner. “she’s going to really hurt herself someday,” he tutted, turning to pull open the fridge and sigh in relief at the frosty air that enveloped him.

you were sprinting down the sidewalk full tilt, equipped with your hat and waterbottle, headed for the park you knew was just a couple of blocks away. but suddenly, you stopped. to be more accurate, something stopped _you_. that something came in the form of a young boy who looked about your age, crashing facefirst into your shoulder and toppling into the street. you reeled backwards, barely managing to avoid the unpleasant acquaintance of your face and the pavement.

the offending boy was not so lucky: driven to his knees, he had scraped both of them rather badly, and you could already see the blood welling. he pushed himself to a sitting position, then caught sight of his knees and screamed.

you could barely hear yourself over how loud his wailing was, but you managed to scream too— _mommy!_ —and she appeared in a split second, summoned by the cries. “what happened here?!” she gasped, and in another instant she’d scooped up the boy and was running for the house. you followed her as fast as you could on your not-as-long legs, out of breath and disheveled from the collision.

your mom shoved the front door open with one shoulder, plopping the boy onto the kitchen counter. “disinfectant and cotton swabs, now!” she ordered in her nurse’s this-is-urgent voice, your dad already rifling through the pre-prepared med kit. your mom shoved up her sleeves and scrubbed her hands at the sink, pumping the soap bottle with agitation.

“we can’t go two minutes without some emergency, huh?” your dad rambled, tossing the necessary items on the counter next to the still-screaming boy. “always gotta be some kind of trouble going on. why did i decide to have a kid again?” he added a tube of neosporin and a plastic bag of q-tips to the pile, then a box of band-aids.

“forget the band-aids, too small,” your mother ordered, and your father grabbed a roll of gauze and cotton pads instead. “where are the scissors?”

“what scissors?” your dad gaped. “we need scissors in the med kit?” he tore one hand through his hair. “seems kind of counterintuitive, doesn’t it?”

“to cut the gauze with, you fool!” she snapped, driven to rudeness in her panic. “oh, forget it—go find our kid, she’s still outside.” she dragged a moving box up to the counter to sit before the boy. “hey, you’ll be okay in a minute, all right?” her voice softened, maternal instincts kicking in. “this is going to hurt, but it’ll stop soon.” she flicked the disinfectant bottle’s cap open and dabbed some onto a cotton ball. “what’s your name, kid?”

“h-haru—OWW!”

“haru-ow doesn’t seem like a real name,” your mom commented, voice still calm as she cleaned bits of stone from the boy’s knees. “are you sure that’s it?” she tossed the used cotton ball on the counter and took another.

“it’s ha—AAH!” he gasped in pain mid-sentence.

“haaah? really?” your mom answered, amused. “that’s pretty unique, i like it!” both knees cleaned, she discarded the second cotton ball as well and pulled open the bag of q-tips. “how old are you?” she asked, unscrewing the tube of neosporin with one hand.

“i’m haruto,” the little boy finally managed as the ointment smoothed onto his scrapes began to soothe the pain. “i’m seven years old.”

“there you are,” your father sighed in relief. “what happened to going to the park? what happened to that little boy?” he gasped in sudden realization. “did you fight with him and push him over?”

“no!” you protested adamantly, arms crossed. “he ran into me, i didn’t do it!”

“okay, if you say so,” he teased, and you swatted him in the leg. “ouch! well, you won’t be going to the park anymore. come back and stay with us for today, okay?”

“but my duck!” you pouted, your diabolical pet-duck plans spoiled.

“what duck?”

“nothing,” you singsonged, looking away. “let’s go!” you took off running again, back towards the house this time, little feet pounding across the sidewalk as your father laughed and jogged to catch up.

“oh, you’re seven!” your mother exclaimed, delighted. “my daughter is a bit younger than you! i was worried there wouldn’t be any children her age nearby, since we’re kind of far from the school.” she covered his knee with a cotton pad and began to unravel the roll of clean, white gauze. “do you live on this street?”

“yes,” haruto answered, gazing down as your mom deftly wrapped lengths of gauze around his knee, securing the cotton pad. “i live right by here.”

your mom tore the end of gauze with her teeth, moving to tie off the bandage. “which house number?”

“i don’t know,” he shrugged. “right next to this one.”

she brightened. “so you’re our next-door neighbor! that’s great, she’ll have someone to play with this summer instead of staying with us all the time.” she unrolled the rest of the gauze, but the remaining length was too short to wrap haruto’s knee— _i told that man to restock it last month, he’s going to catch it when he gets home_ —so she tore off a piece of medical tape. “you’re okay with that, right?” your mom finished taping the cotton pad over his knee and looked up at him, smiling.

haruto looked down. she was already beaming gratefully at him. how could he say no? he glanced away and mumbled, “i guess.”

your mother’s smile widened and she stood, picking up her makeshift seat of a cardboard box. “thank you so much! hop down and go sit on the sofa, okay? we’ll bring your parents over later, when you’re feeling a little better.” she patted the remaining tears from his round cheeks with her sleeve and pointed him to the living room.

your father opened the front door, ushering you in. “how’s the kid doing?”

“he’s all better now,” called your mother from the kitchen, where she was packing up the med kit. “can you get the kids a few juice boxes from the car? i think i put them in the back of the car, in the cooler.”

“sure thing,” your dad replied. you kicked off your shoes and his hand shot out to catch the one that flew into the air. “where is he?”

your mom finished packing up the med kit and came over to you. “resting on the couch.” she smacked him in the side with the plastic case, and he yelped. “no scissors and not enough gauze, when i told you to refill the kit ages ago?”

he blanked. “you did?” your mother’s brow furrowed with annoyance. “i guess you did. you nurses can be so demanding when they don’t have what they need. sorry darling, i’ll run to the store and get those tonight after we unpack some.” he kissed her on the cheek.

“ewwww, gross!” you complained, your mom reluctantly laughing and flicking his forehead in response. “you’re so nasty!”

“you’re the nasty one,” your dad teased, crouching and pretending to sniff the air. “what’s all that sweat i smell?” he mock-wrinkled his nose. “go wash your face and neck, then join that little boy in the living room, okay?”

“fine,” you grumbled, slouching off to the bathroom. you soon returned, trotting down the hall with a stubborn pout and a complaint of “it’s too tall for me!”

“wash in the toilet then,” your father called, earning himself a swat on the arm from your mother and a bout of hysterical laughter from you. “just kidding, that’s nasty too. your mom’ll get you a box to stand on, okay?”

“why don’t you do it?” she tossed back.

“i’m getting the juice boxes from the car like you asked me to!”

“ugh, fine,” she grumbled, slouching off to bring a moving box to the bathroom.

your dad shook his head in disbelief. “i think i know who our daughter takes after.”

you flopped down on the sofa after washing off, the heat having leeched the energy from your limbs. “ughhhhhh,” you groaned to the ceiling, closing your eyes and crossing your hands over your belly like a corpse in its coffin.

haruto watched you from the other side of the L-shaped couch, blinking twice, leaning against the armrest. you looked sideways at him without turning your head, too lazy to move even that tiny bit. “hey, what’s your name?”

“haruto,” he answered shortly, voice flat and bored.

“how old are you?” you prodded.

“seven.”

you turned eagerly to him. “i’m almost seven too!” you announced, wanting to make small talk. anything was better than simply wallowing in the heat, even when you were out of the sun. “sorry for running into you. are you okay?” he looked pitiful, sitting there with his bandaged knees tucked under his chin. you checked that haruto had taken his shoes off before putting his feet up (which he had), because if anyone had put their shoes on your family’s couch, you would have decked them—injured or not.

“yeah.”

you huffed. didn’t this kid ever say anything more than one word at a time?

your dad came into the living room, picking his way around the scattered moving boxes with some juice boxes in his hands. “here you go! they’ve been in the cooler with the ice packs, so they’re nice and cold.” he placed them onto the coffee table before the sofa, then left the two of you to sit there alone.

you leaned forward, grabbing a juice box for yourself and tossing one to haruto. “here.”

“thanks.”

sunlight slanted through the glass sliding door to the backyard, making a glowing golden parallelogram on the wooden floorboards, as silence descended upon the two of you. you pressed your cold juice box against your neck and wondered silently if haruto had never learned to speak a full sentence. or maybe his parents didn’t allow him to say more than one word at a time, for some reason? or maybe he was under a curse, like the movie villains put on the princesses! it was definitely a curse—you _had_ to help him break it! you leaned towards him abruptly, startling haruto out of an apple-juice-induced trance. “who put a curse on you?”

he drew back, confused. “what?”

“you’re under a curse, right? so you can only say one word all the time! who put it on you?” your eyes were bright with excitement. “i want to help break it, okay?”

“i’m not cursed!” haruto snapped.

“oh,” you mumbled, voice flattening with disappointment. that wasn’t fun at all. “why don’t you say more then?”

he didn’t bother to answer. you stabbed your straw into your juice box and blew bubbles, annoyed and giving up on the conversation. this kid was just far too dry. the two of you sipped your juice boxes and avoided looking each other in the eye, surrounded by stacks of cardboard moving boxes. in another room, your parents were talking, muffled voices barely audible to you and haruto.

after a few minutes, you had finished your apple juice and slid off the sofa, curling up on the smooth wooden floor for a nap. the sun-heated patch was pleasantly warm, and you were tired out from the day’s excitements. from the sofa, haruto absentmindedly watched you fall asleep, his eyes still and unblinking.

outside, clouds drifted across the blue, blue sky as though they had all the time in the world. the wind whispered secrets to the trees on the street, whose leaves murmured in reply, and the sun continued its slow arc across the sky. a set of wind chimes sang a high and beautiful melody, the grass swaying gently in answer. the summer was blazing bright.


	2. ch. 2

**🎶** _ her - bts _

early evening had come while you were asleep. the sun had begun to set, and the light that now streamed through the glass door was amber and honey, liquid bronze and molten gold. the sky was flushed rose and persimmon, the sun as orange as an egg yolk. you were still curled up sleeping on the floor, breathing peacefully and silently, and haruto had fallen asleep on the sofa as well.

your parents had spent the afternoon cleaning the kitchen, scrubbing the oven, stove-top, and countertops, and setting down paper cabinet linings. the dining room had also been organized: its corners were swept, chairs and table arranged, and windows washed. the entire place seemed to sparkle faintly. despite your father’s earlier statement, you had managed to escape cleaning duties through your nap.

you now slipped into wakefulness with the setting sun shining in your eyes, and immediately squinted, rolling away from the light. “it’s so bright,” you groaned, sitting up and blinking a few times to rid your vision of the green tint that sleeping in the sun had given you. your eyesight slowly began to fade to its original color.

“what time is it?” you mumbled, disoriented from your nap. slowly dragging yourself to your feet, you stumbled to the sofa and opened a new juice box. you sipped once, twice, allowing the sweet apple juice to revive you. finally refreshed, you set off through the house in search of your parents.

the downstairs bathroom was being scrubbed within an inch of its life, your mother bent over the sink with a rag and your father crouched low to scrub the shower tiles. the entire room smelled of flowery air freshener. you pushed open the door and rubbed your eyes. “mommy?”

“oh, you’re awake?” your mom murmured, preoccupied with her cleaning. “what is it, honey?”

“what time is it?”

she straightened and winced at her aching back muscles. “oh, that’s sore—let me see.” your mom pulled her phone from her back pocket, then gasped. “it’s already six! oh no, haruto’s parents must be worrying. let me go get them, i’m just about done here anyways.” she tossed the soapy rag in the sink and hurried to the front door. “can you wake him up, please?” she called over her shoulder as she shoved her feet into her shoes.

“sure,” you called back, little feet pit-patting on the wooden floor as you crossed to the sofa and crouched to make yourself level with haruto’s sleeping face. you whispered, “haruto? are you awake?”

his lashes fluttered briefly and he muttered, “no.”

“time to get up,” you told him, tapping his cheek with two fingers. “we slept really long.”

“nah,” haruto repeated, rolling over to face the back of the sofa.

“oh come on,” you complained, shaking him by the shoulder. “my mom’s going to get your mom right now, okay? you have to get up.”

“ugh, fine,” he grumbled, rolling over again, but too far, and falling off the sofa. “ow!—” he hissed, sitting up and rubbing his aching elbow.

“wow,” you remarked, looking down at him. “you’re kind of dumb, aren’t you?”

“meanie. where’re my shoes?” haruto asked, looking around.

“i don’t know,” you answered. “want me to help look for them?”

“sure,” he sighed, following you.

your mom didn’t know which house was haruto’s, only that it was directly next door to hers. which one, left or right? she wondered. taking a chance, she knocked twice on the door of the house to the left and waited.

a harried-looking young woman opened the door. “i’m sorry, i’m a bit occupied right now—what is it?”

“hello, are you haruto’s mother?” your mom greeted her.

“ah, yes! thank goodness, do you know where he is?” the woman sighed in relief. “i thought he was at the park, but he usually comes home before now.”

“oh, he ran into my daughter early this afternoon and fell,” your mom informed the lady. “he’s at our house right now, he fell asleep after i patched him up. would you like to come get him?” in her head, she thanked the heavens that she’d gotten the right house first try.

“thank you so much,” haruto’s mother said, “that would be fantastic. let me go grab my husband and we’ll be right over.”

“of course!” your mother smiled.

haruto’s mom turned and disappeared into the house, leaving the door ajar. a few moments later, she reappeared with her husband, slipping her shoes on. “thank you again, i can’t tell you how relieved i am.”

“oh, it’s nothing,” your mom assured her.

haruto’s parents followed your mother down the driveway and over to your house. as your mother pushed open the door, your father came into view. he brushed his hands off, calling, “is that his mom?”

“yeah,” your mom answered. she came into the house, slipping her shoes off, and haruto’s parents did the same. you zoomed by into the kitchen in the form of a small, colorful blur, haruto dashing after you just as fast. “what are you kids doing?” she asked.

“looking for my shoes,” haruto yelled back over his shoulder as he narrowly avoided hitting his head on the edge of the counter.

“well, why are you checking in the fridge then?” haruto’s father called, amused.

“they could be in there!” you said defensively, standing on tiptoe to close the refrigerator door.

your mother bent and picked up haruto’s sneakers. “they’re right here,” she told him. “i moved them by the front door while you two were asleep.”

“oh, okay.” he went over to the adults and sat down, pulling his shoes on one by one. “am i going home now?”

“yes, we’re going home now,” haruto’s mother told him, mussing his hair affectionately. “what do you say to them, watanabe haruto?”

“thank you,” he said, monotone and expressionless. you huffed disdainfully.

“you’re welcome,” smiled your father. “it was our pleasure, honestly! haruto is almost the same age as our daughter, so we were glad to have him for the afternoon.”

“oh, that’s nice,” haruto’s mother commented. “haruto’s friends are all on vacation this summer, so it’d be nice if they could play together during the break.”

“that would be amazing!” your mother beamed. “we just moved here today, so we want her to make friends before she transfers to her new elementary school.”

“oh, you’re the family that moved in next door!” exclaimed haruto’s father. “we saw you and meant to say hello earlier, when you were moving your boxes in, but we didn’t want to disturb you.” he asked, “will your daughter be going to the same school as haruto?”

while the adults jibber-jabbered over things the kids didn’t deem important enough to pay attention, you edged over to haruto, leaning on the wall next to him. “hey, haruto.”

“what?” he asked, having finished putting on his shoes.

you pinched your lips together. “your friends aren’t busy this summer, you just don’t have any, right?” you asked him dubiously.

haruto made a face and kicked you in the shin. you doubled over and yelped in pain, pulling up your injured leg to cradle it with both hands.

“what are you kids doing now?” sighed haruto’s mother, turning to scold. “don’t kick her, haruto! you two should be friends, since you’ll be in the same school.”

“i don’t need more friends at school, i have jeongwoo!” haruto complained.

“then at least don’t beat each other up!” your father chuckled.

“alright, it’s about time for us to be going,” haruto’s father announced. “we’ve intruded on your hospitality long enough, and we don’t need these kids fighting any further.” he turned to leave, his wife taking haruto by the hand and guiding him out.

“see you around!” called your mother as the watanabes strolled down the front walk, his mother turning to smile and wave back with her free hand.

after haruto’s family left, night had fallen. your father had begun to make instant ramen at the stove. you sat at the kitchen table, swinging your feet underneath your chair. the dishes hadn’t been unpacked yet, so your mother had had to dig through the piles of boxes in the living room for the pots and chopsticks. she had yet to find the bowls.

the room was pleasantly quiet, filled only with the sound of bubbling water, until your father broke the silence. “haruto seems like a nice kid, doesn’t he?”

“ugh, no,” you groaned in annoyance, your eyes rolling back into your skull at the thought of haruto being a  _ nice kid _ .

“what do you mean, no?” your dad turned, taken aback. “there’s nothing wrong with him.”

“he never talks to me,” you complained, resting your chin on one small hand. “when i try to talk to him his answers are so short. he doesn’t want to be friends with me.”

“that doesn’t mean he doesn’t want to be friends with you,” your dad persevered, turning back to the stove to check on the noodles. “here, come stir this.”

“yes it does,” you shot back, hopping down from the chair to stir the pot with the pair of chopsticks your dad handed you. he hoisted you up and you stirred, feeling like simba from the lion king. “he prob’ly said less than twenty words to me the entire time he was here, and i talked to him plenty!”

“to be fair, both of you were asleep most of the time,” your dad pointed out, handing you the spice packet to tear and pour in.

“still,” you sighed, licking some fallen red powder off your thumb and instantly regretting it. “ahh, it’s hot!—”

“silly,” your father sighed, shaking his head and putting you down. you made a run for the kitchen table, and your glorious savior atop it, your waterbottle. “try harder to be friends with haruto, okay?”

“daddy, i told you,” you said in between mouthfuls of water, “haruto! doesn’t want! to be friends! with me!”

“hey, i told you earlier that we’re having the extra-spicy chili flavor,” your dad scolded, refilling your waterbottle for you from the refrigerator. “why did you lick it?”

“i didn’t listen,” you whined, gargling cold water. “can i have an ice cube?”

“no, you’ll wreck your teeth,” he reprimanded you. “don’t change the subject.”

“you changed it first,” you reminded your dad.

“oh.”

your mother came back from the living room with a box in her arms. “what are you two talking about now?” she asked.

“how she doesn’t like haruto,” your father told her.

“what? why not?”

“i never said that!” you defended yourself. “i said  _ he _ doesn’t want to be friends with me!”

“he seemed plenty friendly to me,” your mother answered, setting the box down on the kitchen island. “here you go.”

your father took the three dinner bowls she offered him from the box, beginning to divide the ramen into three portions. “me too,” he agreed. “but little missy over here didn’t think so.”

“well, why is that?” your mother came over and poked you in the cheek, taking a seat across from you.

“he didn’t want to talk to me at all,” you repeated. “i asked him lots of things and he only said a few words at a time.”

“maybe he was just nervous,” your mother suggested.

“or maybe he’s bad at making conversation,” your father chimed in.

“maybe he had a sore throat and didn’t want to talk a lot,” your mom added.

“maybe he forgot to brush his teeth this morning, so he had bad breath,” your dad chuckled, prompting your mother to sigh reproachfully at him.

“haruto was fine,” you argued. “quit making excuses for him!”

your father turned the stove off, tilting the pot to pour some soup into each bowl. “darling, sort her out, won’t you?”

your mother leaned across the table, taking your face in her hands. her fingers were smooth and cool against your cheeks. “honey, you have to understand that some people don’t get along at first, okay?” she sighed as you blinked at her, unimpressed. “you have to give second chances. it takes time for some people to open up to each other, you know?”

you yawned.

she shook her head, smiling briefly. “how about this: it’d be really good for mommy and daddy if you and haruto could be friends, okay?”

you pulled away, sighing through your nose. “do i  _ haaave _ to?”

“no,” your father admitted as he brought two bowls to the table. “you don’t have to.” he set the bowls down—on the other side of the table, but you could already smell the spice from that far away. you knew you were about to put your throat through hell. “but it would be great,” he finished over his shoulder, returning to the stove to fetch the last bowl.

“ugh,” you muttered, head in hands. your mother chuckled—you looked as though you were going through an existential crisis at age six-and-eleven months. “fine.”

“thank you,” your mother smiled warmly, stroking your hair. you ducked away from her hand, sticking your tongue out, and she laughed.

“alright you two, dinner is served,” your father announced, setting down the last bowl and arranging the napkins and chopsticks next to each place. “try not to eat too fast, alright?” he warned you. “you know you can’t handle spicy foods.”

“it’s the best on hot days, though,” your mother added, smiling down at her bowl of ramen. “you’ll have to get used to it.”

“okay, okay,” you mumbled, sighing. you could still taste the spice powder in the back of your throat.

“let’s eat,” you and your parents chorused, and your family tucked into the first meal in your new house after a long, exhausting day. outside, a plane buzzed overhead, and a breeze swept past your street, setting tree leaves astir. the sky was cool and deep blue, a restful blue. in your suburban neighborhood, the stars were visible: sprinkles of white pinpoints scattered across the dark sky, winking at each other from what seemed like infinities away. the world had quietened, and the sun had gone to sleep.


	3. ch. 3

**🎶** _vapour - vancouver sleep clinic_

you awoke early the next morning on the sofa with dawn-gray light streaming through the glass door and your parents still asleep on the floor, snug in their sleeping bags. the sky was lightening by the second, and you had woken early because you’d napped for a long time yesterday, so you crawled out from under your blanket and washed up in the restroom, then slipped outside into the backyard.

the sky was just then turning from gray to pale gold. the sun hadn’t yet risen, and you weren’t about to stand there and wait for it to, so you stepped barefoot off the back patio onto the grass. the dewdrops felt like ice against your feet, and you laughed quietly, surprised by the sensation. blades of grass gave way under your footsteps as you ventured farther into the backyard. your eyes danced, drinking up the sights and surroundings greedily as you slowly turned in circles to see everything there was to see, getting a feel of your new home.

_ your new home? _

it still didn’t feel like home, but you sensed it could. you still couldn’t honestly say you loved it yet, but you knew you could in time. maybe it was the sunrise softening you, maybe it was something about the golden sky, but for a heartbeat you understood you would learn to love this place. this was a house to make a home; it would be worn down by years of laughter and love until it became comfortable, until calling this place  _ your home _ would feel instinctive, like second nature.

none of this was conscious to you, but it tickled at the edge of your young mind, and you were too inexperienced of the world to understand the things you were feeling. the air tasted cool and blue as you took a deep breath, then bent to drag the fingertips of one hand through the grass. you reveled in the feeling of the cool dew that clung to your skin.

after a few moments of simply breathing in the essence of the soon-to-come sunrise over your backyard, you reentered your home. your parents’ breathing was deep and even, and you crept past them, careful not to tread on your mother’s hair. you had only briefly explored the first floor of your home yesterday, but you hadn’t gone upstairs at all yet, and you were itching to make this place yours—to search every nook and cranny and breathe in the quiet of every closet.

you had already seen much of the first floor, which was still cluttered with cardboard boxes. it included the front door area, with a short hallway to the adjacent, open area that encompassed the living room, dining room, and kitchen, and the small bathroom that your parents had cleaned the previous day. there had been nothing interesting in the little laundry room, although you had tried to fit into the washing machine and dryer (and succeeded in both, although it was cramped). there was also the backyard patio, of course, which you didn’t think really counted, as it was outdoors. but wait!—there was a small closet by the front door, under the stairs, that you’d never looked in. you dashed for the front door, skidding to a stop on the too-smooth floorboards, and yanked open the closet door.

it was dark inside, but clean and simple. there was a wooden bar overhead, stretching from wall to wall, but nothing else. you were slightly disappointed, but what else had you expected? it was only a closet, after all. even if you wanted to pull out the bar and use it as a staff to beat back intruders (like a certain seven-year-old neighbor), there were the slight problems of 1) your little-kid body being too short to reach the bar, never mind pull it down, and 2) the certainty that your parents would absolutely end you if you did so.

regardless of the lack of excitement, this was your new house, and you were dead set on finding every secret the place had to offer. this renewed determination set your mouth and sent you upstairs, marching up the (also wooden, and therefore also slippery) stairs.

the second floor was more private, and even the air felt stiller, more serious than below. you walked on the balls of your feet, eyeballing the floorboards and avoiding any that looked creaky; for some reason you felt silence was appropriate. perhaps it was because everything was so clean and pale, like a hospital gown, or a fresh sheet of printer paper. every door had been left open, and you paused at the first one. you couldn’t tell what any of the rooms were meant to be, because they were all empty and cleared out, save some wall hooks for scarves and hats and whatnot. you could hear your own breathing echo off the walls.

the upstairs bathroom’s identity was obvious, but this large room, with a big closet and a private bathroom—maybe this was meant to be your parents’ bedroom? these other two rooms with smaller closets were most likely bedrooms. what would anyone even need so many bedrooms for? and what was this other small room, too cramped to be a bedroom but not a closet because it lacked a clothing-hanger bar across the top? (your young mind was ignorant of trivial things like storage space.) but what was this sliding glass door in one of those small bedrooms? you strained to pull it open, and stepped outside, leaving it ajar behind you.

you found yourself standing on the balcony that overlooked the backyard. it was cool against your feet, and you crossed to the edge, gripping the metal railing with both hands and gazing down. when you had looked your fill of your backyard (and others’ as well), you raised your eyes and found the splendor of a sunrise spread out before you.

the sun seemed impossibly large, having risen just enough to balance on the horizon as though already tired. it rested there, tinting the sky with watercolors of peach and gold. cotton-pale clouds, streaking the sky, had been dipped in color as well, turning them to spun sugar. the entire world was awash in gold, as though king midas had run his fingers across it. you reached a hand out before you and closed your small fist around the sun.

you stood on the balcony for long minutes, watching the sun hover ever higher above the edge of the sky. when your legs tired of standing, you sat, your feet pushed between the metal railing-bars and dangling over the edge. the sky slowly transmuted from a living, breathing pale-gold to its customary blue, and only when the last tinges of the sunrise disappeared did you leave the balcony and go back inside.

you’d now seen all there was to see on the second floor. the view from the windows was nice, you supposed, but the eggshell-white walls held no intrigue for your little-kid mind, so you wandered back downstairs. your parents were stirring in their sleep, and you crouched beside your father and poked his cheek. “daddy? good morning.”

he grumbled a little, turning his face away from the morning sunlight. “... time’s it?”

you picked up his phone and pressed the power button to check. “six thirty-two.”

“the sun rises so early in the summer, and for what?” your dad muttered, but reluctantly unzipped his sleeping bag and sat up, reaching to shake your mom’s shoulder. you wandered into the kitchen and drank some water, throat feeling a little dry from waking up early. your parents followed you in with wide yawns, and after digging around in the moving boxes to find the coffee maker and rice cooker, breakfast was served.

your father had indeed run to the store last night after dinner for medical supplies and groceries, so you all enjoyed the pleasure of a freshly cooked breakfast. although it was simple, it was delicious: rice with fried eggs and miso soup with tofu cubes. each person’s eggs were cooked according to their preference: easy-over for your mother, hard-over for your father, and medium-over for you. maybe you were the baby bear in that american fairytale?

your parents had a mug of coffee each with their breakfasts. you asked to try some and were strongly denied (they sure didn’t need the inconvenience of a caffeine-hyped kid on their hands), to which you pouted and ate the rest of your food in sullen six-year-old silence.

after breakfast, the three of you got down to business cleaning the rest of the house. your parents wrapped wet towels around your feet and told you to skate around the living room, the hallways, and the staircase ( _ carefully! _ ), to which you were only too happy to oblige. when you finished that task, as your mother and father cleaned the upstairs closet floors and checked ceiling-lamp lightbulbs, you were having plenty of fun pushing around and sorting through moving boxes.  _ this _ stout, square box was mommy’s clothing, so it went over there by the stairs.  _ this _ long, skinny box contained rolled-up carpets, so it stayed in the living room corner.  _ this _ wide, rectangular box was full of bags of pillows and folded-up comforters, so you lay down in it for a rest until your father came downstairs and told you to get back to work.

your family worked hard through the day, paused for a quick and simple lunch around half past noon, and continued to clean and unpack in the afternoon. as the sun rose to its apex, the heat turned sweltering again, so you were allowed to run through the house and open all the windows and doors. you also took the liberty of turning on every single ceiling fan, unmindful of adult issues like electricity bills. when night had long fallen and your family concluded the brunt of the day’s work, the three of you had managed to get all the furniture and moving boxes in their appropriate rooms. the kitchen and living room had been fully set up, concluding work on the majority of the first floor.

your father stretched his arms over his head as he sat on the sofa, shoulder joints popping. “oh, i heard that one,” winced your mother from the kitchen as she rolled up her sleeves. “what do you two want for dinner?” she checked the fridge. “we’ve got plenty of groceries.”

“darling, aren’t you too tired to cook?” your father sighed, lying down on the sofa. you were seated cross-legged near his head, pulling his cheeks out of shape, but he was too tired to swat you away. he spoke distortedly through a stretched mouth. “it’s late and we’ve been working all day, can’t we get something delivered just this once?”

“just this once?” you repeated, begging your mother with the big pleading eyes that seemed to always work. “i’m so, so hungry and tired.” someone’s stomach growled at the perfect moment. “see, mommy?”

her resolve faltered. “oh, alright,” she grumbled, “just this once.” you and your father immediately threw your hands in the air, cheering with all the force you could muster from the dregs of your energy. your mom picked up her phone from the kitchen counter and her fingers began to  _ tap-tap-tap _ away at the screen. after a few moments of silence, she came over to the sofa and showed the two of you her phone. “what do you think about this italian place? it says they’d take twenty minutes.”

“i’m good with whatever,” your dad answered with his eyes closed, “just make it fast.”

“alright, go eat out of the trash bin then,” your mother answered drolly.

your father just laughed in response and took the phone from her. “ooh, the menu on their website does look good …”

“let me see, let me see!” you crowded around him, awkwardly craning your neck to see the small screen from below. finally after a few minutes’ debate on which dishes to order, your mother placed the phone call order, and you were immediately at the front door, bouncing on your tiptoes for a glimpse of the peephole.

“you can’t reach it, honey,” your mom called exasperatedly from the living room. she’d taken your vacated spot on the sofa. “stop jumping everywhere so loudly, okay? we just placed the order, it takes time.”

“fine,” you sighed, slouching down the hallway and taking a seat at the dining table.

nineteen minutes later you had taken the delivery man’s proffered bag of food and handed him the money. your mother had let you handle the exchange! this was most likely in part fuelled by her exhaustion, but you were still excited. you hefted the bag’s weight and carried it carefully to the dining table, trying not to trip or spill.

“that the food?” your father called drowsily, having fallen asleep on the couch during the wait.

“yeah!” you called back, excited. your family didn’t often order takeout, so this was a rare occasion. “can we eat it now?”

“sure thing,” your mom answered, dragging her sleepy husband to the table and unceremoniously dumping him in a chair. she unpacked the delivery food boxes and set each order in front of the appropriate person. “this looks pretty good, huh?” she asked you, passing napkins around. “alright, let’s eat!”

“let’s eat,” you and your father repeated in unison, and the three of you tucked into your meals.

later that night, after dinner had been finished and the leftovers packed away, you were waiting for sleep to whisk you away on the sofa again, physically drained beyond belief. why did sorting through moving boxes have to be so fun, but so tiring? you pulled the blanket up beneath your chin and let your eyelids fall shut. it had been a long day full of work, but there was a hazy smile on your face as you drifted into dreamland.

the next day was another long day of unpacking boxes.

you and your parents rose early again, although you weren’t able to beat the sunrise this time, and after a breakfast of buttered toast, cut-up fruits, and scrambled eggs (no coffee for you again), went upstairs to determine bedrooms and the like. by default, your parents had already chosen the large bedroom with the private bathroom, as you’d assumed they would. you claimed the small bedroom with the balcony for yourself.

you leaned against the balcony railing with the door left open, zoning out and watching the clouds drift across the sky. behind you, in your to-be bedroom, your parents were hotly debating which pieces of furniture in your room should go where.

“the bed should go against the wall over there, so she can see the door directly and have both sides free!” your mom snapped.

“don’t be silly,” your father sighed, impatient. “why would she even need both sides of the bed free?” he shook his head, arms crossed, and added, “besides, the desk should go against this wall for the natural light, so why would you even  _ think _ of putting the bed on the opposite side? you want a feeling of openness, to make the room feel bigger, right?”

your mom’s eye twitched and she pointed to the waist-height shelf that was waiting in the hallway outside. grinning to yourself, you imagined it was sweating nervously. “listen here, you dolt, if i put the bed here and the shelf across from it, it’ll be fine. besides, we can repaint the walls if we want to change the feel of the room.” she turned, gesturing to opposite ends of the room with both hands. “the balcony is on one side and the desk will be on the other. she needs to access both easily, doesn’t she?”

“if you put the desk all the way on the other side of the room, what kind of natural light will she even get?—”

“we have lightbulbs and desk lamps for a  _ reason _ !”

after a brief argument, they agreed on a compromise, and your parents moved your furniture into place, put up your curtains, and left you to unpack your smaller things.

you came back into the room, the balcony door still open, and took a deep breath. the room smelled clean, empty. like a blank slate, like a field of snow, the ivory-white walls were waiting to be marked with your presence. you wondered how you would change this new room—and vice versa.

you smiled a little and started with making your bed, pulling your bedsheets and pillowcases out of their box. you struggled for a few minutes with the sheet, as it kept wrapping you up like it wanted to smother you in a hug, but you eventually got it to stay. you opened another box and pulled out your pillows, beginning to yank the pillowcases onto each pillow. you were the type of person who had half a dozen pillows on their bed but only ever used one or two—it was a habit.

you were just rifling through your boxes for your blankets when your mother poked her head into your room. “what are you looking for, honey?”

“my blankets,” you mumbled distractedly. “i can’t find them.”

“they’re over here.” she opened a box near the door and tossed the folded blankets onto your bed. “pick one or two to use for now, okay? it’s hot in the summer, even at night, so we can store the rest in your closet for now.”

“okay,” you agreed, and picked two of your favorite, most comfortable blankets to keep out. your mom stood on your desk chair and slid the unused ones onto the raised shelf area in your closet. “thanks, mommy.”

“no problem,” she smiled, ruffling your hair up. you stuck your tongue out at her. “try to be finished with your room by lunchtime, okay? when we’re all finished setting up our bedrooms, we’re gonna unpack the bathroom things and other stuff we all share.” she lifted a wrist to check her watch. “it’s almost nine now, so you’ve got a few hours.”

“mhm,” you mumbled, occupied with spreading your blankets over your bed. your mother smiled gently and left, closing the door behind her.

when lunchtime arrived, you had pretty much finished setting up your room. your books and toys were arranged neatly on the shelves and your clothes were either neatly folded and arranged by type in the cabinets, or hung up in your closet. your accessories (being only six, you only needed some hats and scarves) were hung on the wall hooks near the door, and your backpack was set neatly at the foot of your desk. with your father’s help, you’d tapped a nail into the wall and hung your calendar up. the only thing that remained was to organize the various trinkets, pencil cases and holders, and stacks of stationery on your desk, but that could be done easily later.

“lunch, you two!” your father called from downstairs.

“okay!” you called back, putting down a sheaf of lined paper and leaving your room.

later, when the sun had become too hot for comfort again, you were restless.

you’d had a good, filling lunch, but after you were finished organizing your desk, neither your mother nor your father required any help with storage or organizing the bathrooms. you had all agreed to set up the last, empty bedroom as a study room-slash-home library the next day, so you had nothing to do. you were so,  _ so _ bored.

a half minute later, you were standing at the top of the stairs, a scheming grin stretched across your face as you flattened a few cardboard boxes and piled them atop each other. you backed away a few wide steps, then took off running. you could see your mother coming out of her bedroom in the corner of your eye as though in slow motion, her eyes and mouth panicked O’s, but you were too far gone—you’d leaped, and gravity had taken hold, and you landed atop your pile of cardboard boxes and shot forward down the stairs.

your hair flew behind you and your vision was quadrupled as you bumped down each stair. you felt like your brain was bouncing in its skull, the baby fat on your cheeks jiggling. your mother behind you let out a devastated groan, head in her hands, defeated as you approached the bottom of the staircase.

it was truly a sight to behold; it was tremendous. there was a terrific  _ crash! _ at the bottom and you went flying from your falling-apart, improvised cardboard-box sled, the front of your shoulder taking the brunt of the impact against the wall. “what was that?!” your father shouted from the bathroom, nudging the door open with his foot from where he stood on a chair, storing away extra toothbrushes and toothpaste for future use.

“nothing!” you called back, voice wobbling with pain. “it’s fine!” your mother was already quick-stepping down the stairs, and your father came running from the bathroom anyways.

“oh my god,” your father grumbled as your mother spun you around and checked your arms for any cuts and scratches. “we can’t spend a single quiet day in this house, can we? why would you ever think that was a good idea?”

“i don’t know,” you quavered, eyes tearing up slightly.

your dad softened slightly, a sigh falling from his lips. “darling, take her to her room and check for bruising, will you?” he bent and started collecting the fallen boxes.

“‘course,” your mom answered, immediately picking you up and going back up the stairs. you blinked at your sudden shift in altitude but said nothing. “honey, i love you,” she told you tersely as she nudged open your bedroom door. “i love you, but that was so stupid of you.”

“i know that now,” you mumbled into your pillow as she lay you on your uninjured side to check your shoulder.

a few moments passed as she checked your side and shoulder for any bruising or tearing. when she spoke, her voice was soaked in relief. “you’re fine, thankfully. nothing major, although you’ll probably be pretty sore when you wake up tomorrow.”

“ugh,” you mumbled into your pillow again. “okay.”

your mom helped you up off your bed, and the two of you exited your room. “i think it’d be best if you stayed in your room for the rest of the day, alright?”

“what?” you whined. “sorry for what i did, but it’s ‘cause i was so bored!”

“oh, is that so?” she questioned, voice steely as she descended the staircase, you trailing behind. “if you’ve got nothing to do, you can help scrub the toilets for us. it’ll keep you out of trouble at least.”

you smiled nervously. “uhh, could i go to the park instead?”

“oh, you did want to go the other day, didn’t you?” your father interjected from the living room, where he was pawing through another cardboard box. “darling, where did we put the extra shampoo and conditioners?”

your mom went over to him to help, but turned to fix you with a stern look. “you may go to the park, but be back by sunset—and be  _ careful _ —or i’ll have your skin.”

“yes, ma’am!” you saluted, and before your father could pitch in to remind you to put on sunscreen, you had bounced upstairs to grab your hat and waterbottle and were out the door.

you were once again running to the park, but this time there was no haruto to bump into you on the street and send you for a spill. you slowed as you crossed the intersection, checking both ways like you always promised your father you would. once your sneakers touched sidewalk again, you were sprinting again, the exhilaration of finally going to the park having brushed away the pain in your shoulder.

your favorite hobby of all time was climbing trees. you loved being immersed in the leaves as they whispered greetings to you, feeling the wind cool your cheeks, and locking gazes with the squirrels that shared your pastime. however, the trees in your backyard were all too small for a decent climb, so you’d been itching to go to the park since you’d seen it. when you finally skidded to a stop at the park, you set your waterbottle down at the foot of a tall, proud pine with some low branches. it was perfect, you thought to yourself, shimmying up the trunk as though you were born to.

you were so entranced, you didn’t even take note of the other waterbottle resting under a neighboring tree. you were too busy climbing, reaching for higher branches and clambering up, the burn in your limbs a welcome pleasure. the slight soreness in your shoulder irritated you, but you ignored it. pine needles brushed against your hair and cheeks, tickling slightly. it made you grin. this was where you always felt welcome, entangled in the embrace of a tree’s branches.

when you’d reached a decent height, you paused to take in the view. the clouds were nice today, you supposed, and a good amount of kids had come to the park during the summer break. you could hear shouting and laughing below, coming from what you assumed was a game of tag between grade-schoolers. you breathed in the cool, clear air. you closed your eyes, smiling faintly, and leaned against the pine tree’s trunk.

“what are you doing up here?”

your eyes snapped open and you whipped around, nearly tumbling out of the tree. as it happened, you  _ did _ fall, but managed to catch yourself with your arms on a lower branch. your shoulder reprimanded you with a renewed wave of pain, and you winced. having gotten yourself situated on your new branch, you glared up at that familiar voice.

“what are  _ you _ doing up there?” you growled at none other than seven-year-old watanabe haruto, sitting on a branch in the tree next to yours. the sun was shining behind him, since you were lower than him, and you had to shade your eyes. “did someone throw you up there when they got mad?”

“no,” he answered you, as eloquent the conversationist as ever. “i came up here, i like climbing trees.”

you paused, taken aback. “... oh, really?”

“yes, really,” he tossed back, voice flat.

you remembered too late your parents had asked you to make friends with him, internally cringing at the fact you’d started your second-ever conversation with a potential  _ friend _ so rudely. “oh. me too!” you forced a believable smile. “i came here to climb trees ‘cause there aren’t any tall ones in my yard. what about you?”

he looked at you as you began climbing your way back up to match his height. “my parents made me come out here ‘cause i was playing video games.”

“sounds like a pain,” you lied through your teeth, hoisting yourself up onto a branch. that was probably the longest sentence you’d ever heard him say.

“what’s wrong with your shoulder?”

he’d noticed that? you were surprised again.

“oh, i did something stupid,” you admitted shamelessly. “but i can still climb, so i’m okay.” you smiled at him a little, for real. “hey, can i come over to your tree?”

haruto was the one caught off guard this time. why were you smiling at him like that? there was a glow in your eyes that the sunlight lit up. maybe you weren’t just some annoying girl who pushed him over in the street.

“sure, i guess,” he half-reluctantly agreed. you began to climb down from your branch. “wait, why are you going down?”

you halted. “what do you mean? i’m going to go down and climb your tree.”

“just jump over,” he told you. “it’s not too far.”

you looked at the gap. it really wasn’t too far, even for a kid, but if you missed … well, there were other branches you could catch, lower down. you  _ probably _ wouldn’t die, you mused, entirely forgetting your mother’s warning to be careful. you stood up slowly, precariously balanced. haruto scooted over, closer to the tree trunk, to give you more space. “c’mon, it’s not far,” he told you.

“you jump over here then!” you grumbled, but inhaled and executed your second running leap of the day, this time in midair, on a tree branch. it was considerably more successful, landing you on the branch next to haruto instead of pitching you to the ground. you wobbled a little, crouching for stability, and sat down after a moment.

haruto gave you a rare smile. “nice job.”

“thanks,” you smiled back, not having to fake it.

“actually, i’ve never tried that before.”

you smacked his shoulder. “then why’d you tell me to?!”

the laughter of two children rang through the treetops.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> that's all i have for now (sighs) next chapter coming up in four (...?) days, hopefully!  
> there's not a whole lot of haruto in the first few chapters, i know, but the interactions will pick up a Lot over the next few chapters, so don't worry!! B)


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